


A Day of Firsts

by NewSoul



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation POV, Crack, SPOILERS FOR DOCTOR STRANGE (2016), does this count as crack if the cloak is sentient, im just saying, seriously do not read if you do not want to be spoiled, she's got it together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:38:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NewSoul/pseuds/NewSoul
Summary: Since the Cloak of Levitation is the best character in the the film, I figured she should have a voice. I did make her a she because 1) sorry to disappoint but her relationship with Stephen in this fic is not meant to be taken in any romantic way (you will understand why when you see how she perceives him) and 2) I've got her in my head as this old Scottish mum that acts a bit like a cross between Molly Weasley and Maggie Smith. So without stealing her thunder anymore than I already have to, ladies and gents, The Cloak of Levitation!





	

For thousands of years she had waited, or maybe it had only been hundreds, she couldn’t remember anymore, nor did she care. Staring down the barrel of eternity, understanding that she would spend it alone. The Cloak had allowed herself to be welded by sorcerers before, once even a Sorcerer Supreme, and that had been fun while it lasted, but she had sworn off their kind for several centuries.

The excitement was enjoyable, but she was old now, beyond the thirst of her youthful fire. That is not to say that her threads lacked any of their former spark, she always grew more powerful with the passage of time. She merely did not desire to run off with the first amateur magician that promised adventure. She had felt too many of them perish in her velvet folds, and that particular pain never got any easier. She had been burnt, torn, ripped, frayed, and repaired countless times but losing a companion hurt more than all of those combined.

So the Cloak existed, never taking on a companion, never stirring from the glass box the Ancient One placed her in when she refurbished the New York Sanctum half a century ago. She watched, not exactly taking part in anything, not exactly abstaining. She waited.

Often times the Ancient One would ask her what she was waiting for, of course she wouldn’t answer. She was a cloak for god’s sake, and she wasn’t particularly fond of the faint whiff of the dark dimension that always accompanied the Ancient One’s brief visits. But, to be fair, the Cloak didn’t actually know what she was waiting for.

Obviously, it would be a sorcerer, but she felt as though she had seen all of them before. The Cloak had seen arrogant mystics who craved her fabric for the sheer power that it held alone, never once engaging in companionship with her. There had been the beggars who had asked for her help to save the world, only to poorly use her gifts and to toss them aside after the deed was done. There had even been those who dismissed her magical properties in favor of lesser relics that only gave half the flight she could bestow. “It’s to fickle,” they would say, “not worth your trouble.” As if she wanted to help them to begin with. So, without knowing who or what for, the Cloak waited.

Even as an artifact of the New York Sanctum, little escaped her notice. She could feel the shockwaves ripple through the multiverse as the arrogant one ripped forbidden pages from the Book of Cagliostro. They were both mystical objects, it was impossible to miss the screams of the torn book as they echoed across the plane. After the screams there was silence, broken only by whispers around the Sanctum of an impending attack from the thieves. Zealots, the others called them, but they remained thieves in the Cloaks view. She had never liked the arrogant one. When they had first met he had appraised her like some common manufactured Persian rug hanging from a closeout store hanger. Taking less notice of her as he favored a set of blades that had previously belonged to a mystic who went insane after decades of being trapped in the mirror dimension.

There were months of the quiet whispers, never elevating beyond that. She was resting, blinding her eyes to the monotony of the Sanctum, the night it happened. She was resting… but then _the_ _Eye_ opened.

Agamotto himself could not have performed a better awakening of his own creation. She knew, she had been there when it was forged. It had been years since the Eye had been used, and the only sorcerer the Cloak knew with the ability would never resort to the power, the Ancient One herself had sworn off meddling with time long ago. The Cloak was disquieted by the newcomer. Who were they? Clearly they were powerful, it took great skill to open the Eye and even greater conviction to manipulate time, no matter how small the alteration, and this was a small alteration. Thank the Vishanti for that.

As it turned out, the Cloak would not have long to wait. The London Sanctum was being attacked and this new sorcerer was blown into the New York Sanctum by the concussion of the blast through the Eye’s hiding place. She could feel him, yes it was a man, wandering the reaches of the Sanctum by himself. He took his time, as if he was exploring for the first time. Odd, considering she had just felt him perform one of the most difficult spells known to magic. Had he never seen a Sanctum Sanctorum before?

Slowly she felt him make his way to her glass case and she began to better sense out his aura. He was young, so very young, and in a tremendous amount of pain and spiritual turmoil. There is fear too, massive, crippling fear of failure. Yes, though his years on this earth reached 40, to her he is still a boy, and she can see the years that stretch out before him, many in their number. So much pain he carried with him, both physical and emotional, this was a broken man coming to her. One who had spent all he had in search of a cure that he was _still_ looking for. One who still did not understand that he only needed to look inward to find both the source of his hamartia and its solution. _By the Vishanti he is young_ , she thinks.

Finally, he steps in front of her case. _Oh,_ she muses, following his movements with her gaze. Crystalline blue eyes look at her with unbridled curiosity, awe, and a touch of bewilderment, something she has not seen in the gaze of a magician for a very long time. She follows the trails of blood and sweat down his face and neck to his chest and sees something that amazes her further. This child is wearing _the Eye_! The Eye had not left its resting place in Kamar-Taj in eons. It seemed as if today was a day for firsts.

Now that he is so close she can feel his power, and it is all undiscovered, just beneath the surface that he has only barely begun to scratch. She can see it now; he has only been in training for several months. _And here he is opening Agamotto’s Eye._ This one was interesting.  

All too soon her investigation into this enigmatic child is ended as a noise at the entryway catches his attention and he moves to investigate it. It is the Arrogant One, Kaecilius, and he brings with him great evil from the dark dimension. The fool has summoned Dormammu! He is meddling in powers that he could never hope to comprehend. The current Master of the Sanctum, a good sorcerer if a bit dull, doesn’t stand a chance. She feels the conjured blade before it ever rips through him and before the pain of loss can take hold she hears the Young One scream, “Stop!”

Strange indeed, she agrees.

This boy, this novice of a sorcerer, is fighting to defend this sanctum and its master. The Cloak can tell that he has barely a notion of what this fight actually means and yet he is still fighting. Taking the blows and the humiliation of bring hilariously outmatched for her world, one that he is still attempting to understand. When he crashes back into her cage, afraid and overwhelmed but still fighting, her decision is already made for her. For the first time in nearly 200 years the Cloak moves from her box, halting the blade’s movement toward Strange’s chest. She does it again and again until Kaecilius rips him from the floor and throws him down the stairs.

The Cloak does not even hesitate as she flies from her post. Coming to rest on Strange’s shoulders and feeling the rightness of the fit as she lifts him before he crashes into the ground. It is as if she had been tailored to his form and not some long dead mage of ages past. As they rise above the banister she realizes that this is what she was waiting for. She had been unknowingly waiting for this since she was first woven together. This feeling of melding so perfectly with her chosen sorcerer as he lashed out at the forces from the dark dimension.

_Ok maybe not so perfectly melded._ She thinks as she has to drag him away from the axe he believes to be his salvation. She is forcibly reminded how young and _male_ he is as he continues to argue with her, favoring the bloody axe over the thoroughly convenient trap sitting on the wall opposite him. She forcibly drags him across the room, finally, and shoves him in the direction of the trap, which, of course, works without a hitch. _Honestly, child, you have much to learn._

Though he doesn’t know it, she catches the “thank you” he mutters under his breath and she practically flutters with pride at his gratitude. Yes, she definitely liked this one. Stephen is his name; she finally learns as he corrects Kaecilius. Honestly, does this man’s rudeness knows no bounds. She is so flustered at Stephen’s gratefulness and Kaecilius’ audacity that she fails to notice the assailant stealing up behind them and pain rips through her as another unseen blade protrudes from Stephen’s chest. _NO!_ She immediately applies pressure to the wound as Stephen crawls away.

She can’t lose this, not when she has finally found the sorcerer she had been waiting for. She was not going to lose this bond and the enormity of the future she could feel it held. Stephen was creating a portal to a hospital, _clever boy,_ but the Zealot was closing in again.

_Not on my mystic._

She flies at him in godlike rage, wrapping around him and slamming him into the walls, floors, and ceiling with all the strength her fibers possess. _Go child,_ she prays as Stephen stumbles drunkenly through the portal, leaving it open behind him.

_For the love of the Vishanti, must I do everything?_

She whips the nameless Zealot senseless until his body goes limp in the folds of her fabric. She feels his spirit leave his body, but the astral plane is beyond her so all she can do is wait, and pray that Stephen will come back alive.

Time passes and she grows nervous. How long does it take to heal one wound? Honestly, it didn’t even hit anything major, she knew her worries were groundless but still they remained. Even one Zealot charged with dark magic could wreak havoc in the astral dimension. Well, one Zealot could until she saw electricity consume his body and felt his heart stop beating. _Well done Stephen._

When Stephen returns he is different, more determined, but in deeper pain. She feels the conflict within his soul as he kneels beside the man they have killed. She understands that it goes against the very grain of his being and marvels at him. He rises and glances at her once more before grasping her collar and pulling. Once again, for the first time in ages, the Cloak allows herself to be lead to rest once again on his shoulders. She again feels the pride of being so fundamentally bonded with her sorcerer, even though they have only just met. She watches as Stephen argues with Mordo, a man with his own demons, refusing to do anymore harm. With his words she wraps a bit tighter around his shoulders in support, it was rare to find one of his kind willing to take greater, more difficult steps to avoid bloodshed.

The Cloak fights and flies alongside Stephen as he faces Kaecilius once again only to be rescued by the Ancient One. She feels the betrayal and shame with her new companion as the depth of his mentor’s transgressions are made plain, only for her to fall, both literally and figuratively.

She is there when Stephen finally learns that, “it’s not about him,” and sees the true meaning of his place in the world he has only taken his first steps into. This realization comes at great cost, because the Ancient One only shares the lesson as her final one on this earth. The Cloak watches as Stephen, who was so broken when he turned up in front of her glass case, takes his initial steps towards healing even though the loss of his mentor is a hard blow to bear.   

She isn’t certain she likes Dr. Christine Palmer when she meets her for the first time. When she places a comforting kiss on Stephen’s cheek before leaving to do her own work saving lives, the Cloak decides she isn’t all that bad. Then, when Stephen pops her collar in the mirror, the attempt to look cool is so farcical she can’t help but to wipe the dried tears and blood from his face like the concerned mother that she is, gently reminding him not to be so dramatic. She receives a stern “stop,” in return but can’t help chuckling to herself. Yes, So very young, practically a teenager.   

The Cloak is proud to call Stephen her sorcerer in that moment. Taking measures to improve himself and standing up to defend Earth even though he doesn’t fully comprehend the ramifications of why. The moment she is most proud of, however, does not come until about an hour later when Stephen flies them directly into the Dark Dimension to confront the dread Dormammu himself.

She understands immediately what he is planning as Stephen loops pure time around his wrist and she nearly wraps herself around him to halt his actions. She only stops herself because this is his choice, not hers, and flies him willingly to his own death. Again and again she feels him die. Each death more painful and gruesome than the last as Dormammu grows more and more agitated with his tactics. Every time Stephen flies back shouting, “I’ve come to bargain,” and every time she feels the same pain as him when his pleas are met with anger and frustration.

Finally, blessedly, there is a reprieve, when she learns her sorcerer’s full plan. Stephen, young, barely a beginner, Stephen, who was so afraid of failure at their first meeting, is now content to fail and fail again, in the most tragic of ways, to protect the people of earth. She practically radiates pride when Dormammu howls with rage at her… master. He is the first man she has ever bestowed that title upon. Dormammu acquiesce, and the Cloak watches as a novice, _her novice_ , brings the ruler of an entire dimension to his knees.

After the fight is done, and Kaecilius is banished to the dark dimension, she watches in dawning horror as Mordo leaves the order, citing his inability to reconcile Stephen and the Ancient One’s actions with his own beliefs as his reason. The Cloak can see past all of Mordo’s reasons, for at their roots lie jealousy. Yes, their bill will come due, as all bills do, for the timeline that they altered today and for Mordo’s own actions, but for now, Earth is safe.

When the work of the day is done, and Stephen, utterly exhausted, returns to the New York Sanctum, his new home, the Cloak finally takes the time to do what she has been longing to do since first meeting this young sorcerer. She wraps all her folds around him and squeezes. Stephen, knowing a hug when he feels one smiles tiredly and replies, “nice to meet you too.”

As the clock strikes midnight, Stephen showers off the grime of the day’s battles, throws on an old Columbia Medical School t-shirt and boxers, and falls heavily on the Sanctum Master’s king size bed. The Cloak floats in the corner of the room, fully ready to keep vigil all night to protect her very young mystic but then Stephen sighs loudly and waves her over. She allows her collar to stretch out as she transfigures into a thick king size duvet, covering who she knows to be a future Sorcerer Supreme and flattens out in contentment. She had been waiting a long time, but as Stephen pulls her up to his chin and wraps her more tightly around himself, she decides that some things are definitely worth waiting for.  

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to rec and comment (especially if you find any mistakes, this hasn't been betaed). If you feel the need to indulge in more Doctor Strange or BBC Sherlock shenanigans, head over to my Tumblr: @consultedlestrade!


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